Only a Dream?
by Clopin K. Trouillefou
Summary: A young Erik dreams of himself as an adult meeting Christine and a strange Gypsy girl. Who is she and was it only a dream?


Inside his cage, Erik tossed and turned, a dream filling his mind, but it was not a nightmare. It was disturbing but not frightening; nothing was compared to Javert and this stinking carnival where he was a freak. He awoke with a start, hoping that the past year or so had just been a bad dream, but it wasn't. He was still in his cage, shivering in the cold, a raggedy blanket covering him. He went to the bowl where Javert always gave him his water, but it was empty and he was so thirsty. He pulled his blanket tighter around him and began weeping. He wanted to go back to the little cottage where he'd lived with his mother; she was gentle compared to his keeper. A movement in the tent next to the one where his cage was kept alerted Erik.

Javert tossed and turned, pulling a pillow over his head, but it did little to help block out those pathetic whimpers. He got up, pulling on his trousers, and stormed to the next tent. It was too early in the morning for this, the sky was still black and blanketed with stars. That wretched little demon, waking him up; he was going to get it even if it woke the entire troupe up. Javert burst through the tent flaps, Erik's eyes wide with fear, hands over his mouth. Javert grabbed the whip off the floor as well as the key to the boy's cage.

"No, please," Erik pleaded, pressing himself against the bars of his small cage, "I'll stop."

"You shouldn't even be whimpering in the first place," Javert growled, unlocking the cage door, "You worthless little freak!"

"No!" he whimpered as he was dragged out, "Please, don't beat me!"

"Worthless demon!" Javert growled, dragging Erik to his tent, "You wake me in the middle of the night and then you beg me not to beat you for it?"

The whip whistled through the air cutting through Erik's shirt and flesh, as he bit back cries. The beating continued until Javert was exhausted enough to return to slumber, Erik bleeding profusely, his shirt in tatters. Javert dragged him back to his cage and threw him back in then stumbled back to his own tent, Erik falling asleep immediately in his cage…

_Erik stirred in his cage, a voice singing something about Music of the Night; it was a lovely voice, pure and angelic. _

"Erik," it called softly, "Come to me, my Angel of Music."

Someone grabbed his wrist pulling him to his feet; his eyes opening to see a young girl that very much resembled his own mother with her honey blonde curls and blue eyes. 

"Maestro?" she said, "It's me, Christine."

"Christine…" he repeated, finding his voice to be deeper and soft as velvet, "My… Angel of Music."

He smiled, turning to see himself, a grown man, in a full-length mirror and without a mask, yet Christine wasn't afraid. He turned back to her to find fear was in her eyes; she let go and backed away from him, he felt himself fall.

"Christine!" he cried as a young man wrapped his arms around her.

No, it couldn't be, she was his and his alone that boy had no right to take her, yet Erik found he could do nothing. He sat and watched her leave him for a handsome young man but he couldn't blame her; he was a hideously deformed monster. Monsters were not allowed to love or be loved, that lesson had been impounded into his brain. 

Erik collapsed to his knees, weeping uncontrollably, his strong masculine form shaking with every heart-rending sob.

"Erik?" another voice whispered in concern.

Another girl came into view, a Gypsy, her raven hair wild and messy, her eyes black and fathomless. She pulled him into her arms, singing a lullaby to comfort him then kissing his deformed cheek as though it were soft as an infant's skin. But his form became smaller, thinner and his voice lost its deep velvety resonance. Though angelic, his voice as a child was not nearly as pure or as beautiful. The girl held him tight, rocking him back and forth like a mother would her child. She kissed him, brushing away his tears, her arms wrapped around his small form protectively.

Erik awoke, almost convinced he'd find himself in the arms of that angelic Gypsy girl, but of course he was back in his cage, alone and unloved. But his dream had seemed so real and life with these Gypsies had made him question the true prophetic ability of dreams. 


End file.
